


to feel myself beloved on the earth

by aglassfullofhappiness (mehmehs)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Christmas, Death, Delirium, Grief/Mourning, Growing Old, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memories, Mentors, Old Age, POV Outsider, Talking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:08:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28238976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehmehs/pseuds/aglassfullofhappiness
Summary: In the week before Christmas, Doctor Genovese sits up in his hospital bed and says,“It’s time.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 64
Kudos: 261





	to feel myself beloved on the earth

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [to call myself beloved](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28026597) by [aglassfullofhappiness (mehmehs)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mehmehs/pseuds/aglassfullofhappiness). 



> So after I wrote the widower!Joe scenario, the lovely [quincette](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quincette) suggested I do a parallel scenario for widower!Nicky, because apparently one round of pain was simply not enough. 
> 
> In all seriousness, thank you for the incredible feedback on the first fic. There were some very personal responses that I really, really treasure. I hope you all enjoy this one too. 
> 
> Please heed the tags – major character death, depiction of end-of-life issues etc. But it’s done softly, again. Soft angst. I think.
> 
> Many thanks to [harryhotspur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harryhotspur/pseuds/harryhotspur) for the beta and the medical sense checking. I would truly be lost without you.

In the week before Christmas, Doctor Genovese sits up in his hospital bed and says,

“It’s time.”

In all his years of practice, he has rarely been wrong about a patient’s time of death. No one expects him to be wrong about his own. Word spreads rapidly, and the hum that’s been buzzing through the wards since his admission cuts off, like everyone’s holding their breaths. Things are still busy, of course – when are they not? – but people pause as they pass each other, hands squeezing elbows, tight hugs when seconds can be spared. _It’s time_ , each touch says. _It’s his time._

They call his family immediately, just in case Doctor Genovese is as prompt with his own death as he is with every appointment. Well – they call the two people who have been with him throughout his last several months. One is a beautiful young black woman; the other is a handsome man in his forties. Some had thought he might be Doctor Genovese’s son at first, but he has a different last name. Besides, Doctor Genovese has never mentioned a partner or a family. God knows people have tried to find out, over the many decades he has been at Jones Memorial Hospital.

Doctor Genovese’s private life is endlessly fascinating – mainly because he’s never seemed to have one. To be fair, not many of the medical staff do, which only makes the nosiness worse. When he’d first arrived at Jones Memorial to begin surgical training, he’d been far too knowledgeable for his age; a well-travelled polyglot who could engage any patient on any topic. His talent for surgery is God-given. He has an uncanny ability to _know_ before anyone else does, and his precision, patience and unwavering resilience earn him a revered reputation. Nobody can remember when he’d taken a sick day or a holiday. He packs his schedule as full as the hospital will allow, and only retires from surgery when he’s forced to by tremors in his hands. He immediately transitions to teaching, researching, and volunteering across the other wards. If he’s ever had a flaw, it’s his inability to _stop_.

Throughout it all, there has been no known family, few friends, and no partner. Given his introversion, specialisation and somewhat unnerving demeanour, it’s perhaps not surprising. But he is also incredibly kind and very sweet, with a unique streak of romanticism that often accompanies his more philosophical musings. When he was younger, there’d always been talk of setting him up. But those discussions were always shut down by older members of the team, hushed and quick. When asked why, they only shake their heads. No one quite knows the story, only that Doctor Genovese had made it clear he wasn’t interested. And when the good doctor sounded like _that_ , you desisted immediately.

That had been decades ago.

In the end, Doctor Genovese returns home. It’s not like he’s ever left, really; he has dedicated his life to Jones Memorial, and to the thousands who have passed through during his tenure. When he’d first been admitted, he was heavily involved in hospital governance, and still taking phone calls from bed. It’s the first time he’s been a patient, though, and to be honest – he’s not very good at it. He keeps thinking he can continue volunteering as his daily exercise, and will casually critique doctors’ decisions like he’s running a training simulation on himself. He makes all the nurses late on shift because he keeps inviting them to sit and talk, far more concerned with their lives than he ever is with his own. As word spreads, the hospital is flooded with get-well wishes and flowers. Visitors have to start booking in times. He still looks surprised at each card and every guest, wrinkled cheeks going pink at the thanks he receives. He is often found awake at odd hours, going over letters and photos from past patients and their family members. He especially likes the ones where patients have gone on to have families of their own, always showing the nurses new baby photos when they come to check on him.

Much like his private life, Doctor Genovese’s symptoms are a mystery. There are the obvious things: issues with his heart, a bad fall, the increasing shake in his hands. But as his condition worsens, random symptoms start popping up. He has sudden difficulties breathing for no apparent reason; random bursts of pain that scare them all in intensity. Strangest of all – his brain remains sharp and his memories decent, but he starts talking like he believes he’s lived across most of human history.

It starts after one of his pain episodes. Kevin’s on night shift in October, and has a moment of pure panic when he recognises Doctor Genovese. Of course he does – everyone does – and considering Kevin would most like to be a theatre nurse, he feels like he’s in the presence of a god. He catches Doctor Genovese at the tail end of the episode, hunched over his left side on the bed, breath wheezing in the dim light. He shakes his head at Kevin before he can call for the staff nurse.

“I’m fine, really,” Doctor Genovese says, like he says to everyone. “It’ll pass in a moment. It’s just from that damn cannonball in ’63.”

Kevin pauses. That last bit is new.

“…cannonball?” he repeats carefully, and Doctor Genovese nods, wincing as he lies back against his pillows.

“Yes,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Gettysburg was horrible. All civil wars are.”

Kevin comes back to the bed with water, and Doctor Genovese smiles as he takes the proffered cup. “And what about you, Kevin? Did you manage to get to your sister’s graduation in the end?”

Kevin stares at him, He can accept the cannonball comment, but is flabbergasted that Doctor Genovese a. remembers his name from one prior meeting, and b. remembers what Kevin had said to him.

“Um,” he says as Doctor Genovese continues to smile at him, waiting. “Oh – yes I did, thank you. Sir.”

“Please,” Doctor Genovese says, shaking his head. “It’s just Nicky.”

“Alright…Nicky,” Kevin says, feeling like he’s blaspheming. Doctor Genovese finishes his water and settles back as Kevin adjusts his blankets.

“Thank you, Kevin,” he says. He is staring up at the ceiling as Kevin leaves, and is still awake during Kevin’s next round.

By November, Doctor Genovese has deteriorated from offhand comments to short episodes of delirium, where he thinks he is in another time and place altogether. It becomes quite the game, figuring out where and when he thinks he is. Sometimes they recognise the language he speaks; sometimes they don’t. Sometimes the episodes are lovely, like Doctor Genovese is reliving a happy memory. Sometimes they are terrifying. He will think he’s under fire or captured; he will go completely silent and watch them all like they’re about to attack him. Kevin is calming him through one of these episodes at three a.m. when Doctor Genovese’s eyes focus on him; in the wrong reality but with very real fear.

“Where have they taken him?” he rasps out. It’s in English but with an accent Kevin can’t quite place. “Alex – tell me – _anything_ – I have to find him; I have to get him back –”

“Who?” Kevin asks, trying to untangle himself from Doctor Genovese’s grip. His fingers are surprisingly strong, fist caught in the front of Kevin’s uniform. “I’m sorry, who’re you looking for –”

“ _Yusuf_ ,” Doctor Genovese says, starting to shake. “Please, you don’t understand, I have to find him…”

Kevin soothes him as he sinks into incoherency, and then slowly rises back out of it, only to fall asleep between several laboured breaths, exhausted. Kevin stays with him for several long minutes, Doctor Genovese’s weathered hand still resting over his own. They can only assume these episodes are figments of the doctor’s imagination, and not based upon any reality. Still – the rawness of these episode, when the doctor has always been so calm and inexpressive…it shakes Kevin, despite all the similar cases he’s seen before.

In late November, Doctor Genovese goes missing.

It’s not uncommon, per se – he often goes for walkabouts through the hospital, and he knows the staff schedule and building too well. He is surprisingly sneaky and also very stubborn. They usually find him in the children’s ward, which has always been his favourite; it’s hard to make him leave with several toddlers clinging to him. This time is different though – with the recent episodes of delirium, it’s not safe to have him wandering around, and the quiet hunt for the good doctor spreads rapidly. Kevin is leaving the NICU empty handed when he passes the windows and pauses. It’s a beautiful day outside, sun bright and inviting. Kevin hurries to grab a fresh blanket, and then makes his way to the hospital gardens.

Doctor Genovese is sitting on a bench in one secluded corner, hidden from view by a low hanging tree. Kevin makes his footsteps loud as he approaches, and the doctor turns his head as Kevin sits down beside him. He’s wrapped in his massive overcoat and winter scarf, but Kevin offers him the blanket anyway. Doctor Genovese takes it and lays it neatly across his lap, hands smoothing over the fabric.

“Thank you, young man,” he says, and when he gives Kevin his awkward little smile, Kevin realises Doctor Genovese doesn’t recognise him at all. Ah. Thank God he’d found him. “How very nice of you.”

“No problem,” Kevin says, smiling back. He can think about moving Doctor Genovese in a moment. “Are you doing alright?”

“Perfectly fine, thank you,” Doctor Genovese replies, as he so often does. He tilts his head, eyes running over Kevin’s face. “Have we met before? You remind me of someone…”

“I’m Kevin,” Kevin says, holding out his hand.

“Nicolò,” Doctor Genovese says, shaking Kevin’s hand. His grip is warm and steady. “But you can call me Nicky.”

“Alright,” Kevin says. He’s about to ask who he reminds Doctor Genovese of when the doctor leans over and asks,

“Say – have you seen my husband, Kevin?”

Kevin pauses. Doctor Genovese doesn’t seem distressed at all, question genuine but casual. He’s like this when he’s having a nicer episode, able to carry a clear conversation with a seemingly full backstory. He’s never mentioned a husband before though.

“Hm, I don’t think I have, sorry,” Kevin says, watching carefully for any adverse reactions. “But what does he look like? Maybe I passed him before.”

Doctor Genovese hums, sitting back and playing with the edge of the blanket.

“No, it’s alright,” he says, and then gives Kevin a look he’d almost call playful. “You would have recognised him. He’s _very_ handsome.”

Kevin laughs. It’s such an unexpected answer and yet utterly sincere; he shouldn’t pry but he’s beyond curious. He isn’t even sure if this is real or, yet again, imagined.

“I’m sure he is,” he says. “What’s his name?”

“Oh…” Doctor Genovese pauses, mouth slanting like he’s struggling with something before he says, “Joe, you’d call him. He said he’d be right back…”

“I’m sure he will be,” Kevin says, soothing. “What does he do?”

“Oh…” Doctor Genovese says, vague but fond, “all sorts. But he’s an artist at heart.”

“That’s lovely,” Kevin says, smiling. “What kind of art?”

“Drawing,” Doctor Genovese says, and then shakes his head. “Painting. Sculpting. Pottery. I forget – he’s amazing at all of them.”

It’s the sweetest thing, how Doctor Genovese’s voice sounds. He is never harsh, even when someone’s made a stupid mistake, and he’s particularly warm with the nurses. But he’s also the consummate professional, and an enigma by reputation. Kevin hopes, sudden and aching, that this Joe was real, that the affection in Doctor Genovese’s – Nicky’s – voice is how he sounds outside of work, whenever he remembers him. He hopes that between saving lives and running the hospital – he hopes Doctor Genovese had time to just be human.

“And what about you, young man?” Doctor Genovese says, as he always does once he thinks he’s spoken too much about himself. “What do you do?”

“I’m a nurse,” Kevin says, and Doctor Genovese breaks into a wide smile. “I mean – just a student nurse, right now. I’m a student nurse.”

“Nobody is ever _just_ a student nurse,” Doctor Genovese says, shaking his head. “It’s a terribly difficult job. I remember doing it…long ago now, hospitals were very different then. But the difficulty of that job never changes. Nor its importance. Please remember that.”

“Thank you,” Kevin says, a little dazed. It doesn’t really make sense – he doesn’t think Doctor Genovese had done nursing before becoming a surgeon, but still. He appreciates the sentiment.

“Are you on placement at the moment?” Doctor Genovese asks, looking at Kevin’s uniform, and Kevin nods and gestures behind them.

“Yes, I’m at Jones Memorial for this round,” he says, and when Doctor Genovese looks up at the hospital something shifts in his wrinkled features. Comprehension maybe, something that makes his face grow soft.

“Jones Memorial…” he repeats, head tilting. “You know – this hospital was named after my Joe.”

Kevin frowns. He should play along, maybe, but it’s such a sudden departure from reasonable logic that he has to point out, “This hospital was founded…over a hundred and fifty years ago, I think.”

“Was it now?” Doctor Genovese says, like this made perfect sense. “How time flies…We were always so bad with our names. But they insisted…it wasn’t anything like it’s become now, Kevin. It was just a tiny clinic then. We kept track of it, as it grew. That’s why I came back, after he…” Doctor Genovese pauses, a frown starting at the corners of his mouth. “After he –”

He stares up at the hospital, gaze sharpening. Kevin is watching him so closely he thinks he sees the moment Doctor Genovese returns to the present, not slow and disoriented like the previous times but sudden, like a blow. He takes in a deep, shuddering breath and looks back at Kevin, recognition returning. Tears fill his eyes, shining against the green as he opens his mouth and says,

“He’s gone, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” Kevin says, because that must be the answer. “I’m sorry, Doctor Genovese.”

“It’s alright,” Doctor Genovese says even as his tears spill over, catching in the lines of his face. He makes no move to dry them, and Kevin doesn’t want to disturb him as he turns to stare out over the garden again. He is utterly, utterly still, except for the heave in his chest and tears coursing down his cheeks. It would be odd coming from anyone else, but from him it seems apt; a silent storm, perfectly contained. Kevin wonders how many patients Doctor Genovese had lost on the operating table; how horrific it would have been, considering he'd specialised in paediatrics. And yet, he had never wavered or broken. It made sense that he had managed the loss of a spouse the same way. It must have happened a long time ago now.

Doctor Genovese leans forward and puts his head in his hands, just breathing. Tears fall heavy onto the blanket, and Kevin puts a soft hand on Doctor Genovese’s back. He’s lost a lot of weight since his admission, bones protruding even under all his layers. But there’s a set to his shoulders that makes Kevin think of a much younger man, silent and steady. Kevin’s only ever seen one photo of a younger Doctor Genovese, from when the hospital had re-named an operating theatre after him and strong-armed him into attending the unveiling ceremony. It’s a hilarious photo, with everyone grinning as Doctor Genovese grimaces at the attention. It gives Kevin some idea of how he must have been for most of his life. It’s an honour to be here at the end of it.

They stay until the wind picks up, and Kevin shivers. He hadn’t wrapped up appropriately before he’d come out, and the afternoon chill was deepening.

“Kevin,” Doctor Genovese says, voice hoarse but clear. “I think I’d like to go back in now.”

~*~

On the day Doctor Genovese announces his departure, his family arrives twenty minutes after the hospital calls them. Kevin now knows the woman as Nile and the man as Booker. Strange names for a strange little family, but Doctor Genovese is always so pleased to see them. Kevin comes in with a fresh batch of letters and gifts from reception, and Nile laughs as she gets up to receive them.

“Your fan club just keeps growing, Nicky,” she says, and Doctor Genovese smiles against his pillows. He has been drifting in and out of lucidity since the morning, but he seems to register them as Nile sits back down. Having them around always seems to focus him, even if those periods have gotten shorter and shorter. Kevin tries to leave unobtrusively, but stops short when Doctor Genovese says his name, one hand reaching out. Booker makes room so Kevin can come over, concern spiking in his throat.

“You know…” Doctor Genovese says, eyes roaming over Kevin’s face. “You remind me so much of your…great-grandfather, Alex would’ve been,” he says, and Kevin stares at him. He _had_ had a great-grandfather called Alex, who had been a combat medic in Afghanistan. There is no way Doctor Genovese would have known him. And yet – “You’re going to be a great nurse,” Doctor Genovese says, and while his hand is cold his voice is still warm. “Thank you for looking after me.”

“You’re welcome,” Kevin mumbles. He feels inexplicably like he might cry. Doctor Genovese breathes out and closes his eyes, and Kevin tries to back out as quietly as possible.

When he next checks in, the pile of letters sits neat but opened on the bedside table. He knows each of them holds a multitude of thanks and praise, each one indicative of an entire human life and their loves ones. Doctor Genovese is mumbling something to Booker in what sounds like French, Booker’s hand over his. He turns his head at the sound of Kevin’s footsteps, eyes open but unclear, unfocused.

“Yusuf?” he says, and moves like he wants to sit up. “Yusuf?”

Nile eases him back, and her voice is choked when she says,

“He’ll be here soon, Nicky. Joe will be here soon.”

“Oh,” Doctor Genovese says, free hand on her arm. “Yes. He’s always late, isn’t he?”

“Always,” Nile says, and presses a kiss to Doctor Genovese’s forehead as he closes his eyes again.

\--

Kevin is not in the room when Doctor Genovese dies. There comes a time when there is nothing more they can do, and Doctor Genovese had understood that better than anyone. So Kevin isn’t quite sure when the good doctor goes, only that he would by evening. It’s coming to the end of Kevin’s shift; he’d be leaving late though, with issues cropping up last minute like they always do. He pauses for breath in the corridor next to the visitor’s lobby and looks out the window. It’s dark out, fresh snow falling past the lights of the hospital. His reflection in the glass is tired and pale. He’ll be working throughout Christmas and New Year’s, so the season really doesn’t feel quite the same. But even so, soft fairy lights line the corridor, and as he takes another breath, a lone voice starts singing _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas_ from the lobby, fingers soft over the upright piano there. It’s a slow rendition that tugs at him; a loved one waiting, waiting, waiting.

Kevin thinks about what Doctor Genovese would do, in his situation. He thinks what Doctor Genovese would want.

He keeps going.

~*~

_And did you get what  
you wanted from this life, even so?  
I did.  
And what did you want?  
To call myself beloved, to feel myself  
beloved on the earth._

_\- Late Fragment_ by Raymond Carver

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> After thinking I couldn’t do a widower!Nicky version, I ended up having a lot of thoughts regarding the similarities and differences Nicky and Joe might have if faced with mortality without the other. I’ve also depicted them at different points of that scenario, which of course changes things. 
> 
> But the idea of both of them continuing to _do some good_ in the face of incomprehensible grief is very dear to me. But also doing so in quite different ways. Nicky, quiet to the last, carrying his love to the grave, firm in his belief that they all have their time, even though that doesn’t make his grief any easier to bear. For him to give and give and give, and to be so appreciated for that, finally; for Joe to _call himself beloved_ , and for Nicky to _feel himself beloved on the earth_. That’s all. 
> 
> All feedback welcome 😊 Take care, team ♥


End file.
